Not Sorry
by Linwe-Amari
Summary: I reached up and grabbed the back of his head, forcing his lips back to mine.  His hands shot out to either side of my body to support himself so that he wouldn't fall on top of me with the momentum of the jerking motion. Seddie.


A/N: Hello! Here's another one-shot for you. It does get a bit... hot. :) Enjoy, and review if you know what to say (I know that sometimes, you're like, '_What_ do I say about this?'). If you don't know what to say, write the first word that comes to your mind. (This is actually what I like to do sometimes. Confuses the hell out of people!) _Also, I am going to take a moment to advertize. (No, I am not ashamed of it.) xD I have a total of four other Seddie one-shots that I wrote for all of you. I wrote them with the readers (that's you!) in mind, so I believe that you will like them. (Or, at least, it is my hope.)_ I also have an entire _slew_ of wonderful Seddie stories in my favorites list, written by some of my favorite authors, so a good read is just a click away. Anyhoo, I'll stop yapping.

Not Sorry

"Sam, what are you doing?"

"I'm changing the station. I can't stand to listen to your jank nub-tunes anymore."

Freddie was behind the wheel, driving me home after our first date. I was reaching in between the two of us to mess with the radio controls, not because I completely hated the music, but because I knew that it would annoy Freddie. And that's some all right shit.

"Is that really necessary?" he snapped.

"Yes. Is your face necessary?" I quipped.

"Yes! Is your voice necessary?"

"I don't know, are your clothes necessary?"

"Yes, Sam! Clothes _are_ a necessity!"

"Yeah, but I think that the world could do with fewer sweater vests."

"Ugh!" Freddie spat out, exasperated. "I can't _stand _you!"

"Then sit down and quit trying, Nub!"

"You know what? You're right. Why are we even trying? Why the hell do we even bother? We're never going to work because we will always be at each other's throats."

His words slapped me in the face and I felt myself tense up immediately. This was the only way that the boy could ever hurt me: with words, because Lord knows he's a sissy. Needless to say, this was not something that I wanted to talk about. The car became humid with discomfort and I could barely breathe because of it.

"Well then, seems like you've made up your mind," I ground out, my voice significantly lower than usual.

Freddie could sense this immediately and I knew the he felt bad. His face was painted with regret.

Was it so bad that I liked it when he felt like a jerk?

"Sam, I'm—"

"Save it," I spat angrily. "I don't give a fuck."

"But I didn't mean—"

"Stop the car," I demanded, fed up. I couldn't stand this anymore. I couldn't stand him anymore. I needed to breathe.

"_What_?" the beginnings of hysterics on the tip of his tongue. "Sam, we're still ten minutes away from your house!"

"I don't give a flying spittoon, Fredweird! If I have to put up with you for one more second, I'm going to explode."

So Freddie stopped the car and I couldn't jump out fast enough. I slammed the door as hard as I could behind me and started walking down the street in the direction of my house.

But Freddie wasn't about to give up so easily.

He also got out of the car, locking the doors behind him, and ran to catch up with me.

The fact that he didn't just let me go gave me this slightly tingly feeling in my stomach, but I did not allow myself to dwell on the happiness.

"Sam, I'm sorry," he blurted before I could stop him. "I didn't mean a single word of what I said."

I rolled my eyes and continued walking without acknowledging that he'd spoken. The nub thought that he would get off the hook that easily?

Hell no. Not even close.

Freddie grabbed me by the bicep and swung me around to face him. It sure got my attention, but not the good kind. Boy did he know how piss me off.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed. I couldn't stand him touching me… The boy gets me going...

At the moment, the expression on his face made him look like a small child who was trying to apologize to the puppy he'd just kicked. It was just so damned cute I had to struggle to hold on to my anger as Freddie stumbled over his words.

"I-I'm glad that we went on a date tonight," he insisted, "a-and I would really like it if we, uh—you know, if we went out again…soon."

"You're such a dweeb," I said, but I knew that it lacked venom. I looked down at my shoes, instead of up at him because I knew if I looked into his eyes, I was done for. Freddie carefully placed both of his hands on my shoulders and shook me gently to get me to look up at him. I resisted, but I was futile.

And I practically got the wind knocked out of me when I did look up. The way the he was eying me made a certain sort of grown-up, mature feeling pulse through my veins—one that I was not all that familiar with. I was familiar with getting butterflies in my stomach and getting that nitrogen-oxide-happy feeling, but this was something darker. Steamier. Sexier. I knew that I was not alone in this feeling—Freddie was feeling it too.

Lust.

That's what it was.

I blushed. This was just too hot.

And then Freddie seemed to back off. What? Rejection hit me like no other. He must have felt the heat and did not want it—at least, not from me. I swallowed and went back to looking at my feet. I couldn't look at him anymore knowing that he didn't want me because I _so _wanted him.

Yes, I admit it. It hurt like hell.

"Will you let me drive you home?" Freddie prodded gently.

_Yeah, that's just like you Freddie. Always let me down easy._

I swallowed (it was my pride that I forced down, because I nodded in agreement).

The rest of the drive was quiet and uneventful. I did not touch the radio. Freddie did not breathe a word. In fact, he hardly breathed at all. I hardly breathed at all. No breathing.

As we approached my house, I noticed something odd: an unfamiliar car in my driveway. It was a beat up car that looked like it was from the 1980s, steel grey and rusted in some places. My mother's car was in the driveway too.

Uh, oh. Not good. I knew that nothing good would come from this.

Freddie stopped the car along the street, leaving the engine on. Apparently, he could sense my heart palpitations because he reached over to my lap and put his hand over mine.

"Why don't you come back to Bushwell for the night? You don't have to stay with me. Carly would understand."

I jerked my hand out from under his and opened my car door, nimbly slipping out.

Once again, Freddie followed me out.

"Sam, this is dangerous, please just get back in the car," he urged.

"If you're so afraid of getting hurt, get back in your car and _drive_," I spat.

Freddie had this incredulous look in his face as he spoke.

"You really think that I'm just afraid for _myself_?"

I forced myself to say nothing and look straight ahead as I continued to walk, going around to the side of my old one-story house where my bedroom was. I always left my window open so that I would not need to use the front door and have to deal with my mother. She knew that I did this, and I think that she let me because she didn't want to face me. That or she couldn't. I knew that she wasn't proud of the things she did—the drugs, the alcohol, the men—and she didn't want me to see her that way.

But it was too late—some of her habits, drinking and drugs, had already rubbed off on me. The one thing I did avoid was men.

Freddie was making this hard for me.

It felt really nice to hear him imply that he was concerned with my safety, but I could not let myself fully believe it.

It was as if the dweeb could read my mind.

"Why don't you believe me?" he demanded, angry.

I turned abruptly. I got in his face. I spoke. Forceful and furious.

"Because I have _always_ given _everything_ to believing, and it has _never_ given anything good back."

And with that, I turned to my window, leaving Freddie dumbfounded, and carefully slid it open, taking care to slow down when I got to the place where it squeaked. I stealthily crept inside and turned to shut the window only to be hampered by Freddie's body climbing through as well. I threw him an annoyed expression.

"Go home," I whispered.

"No."

"I don't want you here," I lied, trying to hurt his feelings so that he would leave me alone. This had always worked on him—beat him up, hurt his feelings so that he would not look at me twice, even though I really wanted him to. I was afraid of the repercussions if he ever did. But tonight, this did not work. It seemed that he was finally catching on to my plot and was making every attempt for foil it.

"Freddie, really, I think that you should go home now." I was getting desperate. He simply folded his arms and looked at me unyieldingly.

It was then that we heard shouts and a loud bang come from another room of the house, causing the both of us to jump. I knew that mom was meeting with her drug dealer, and apparently, things were not going well.

"Please, just leave," I insisted.

"I'm not leaving you."

I walked up to him and poked him repeatedly as I spoke. "First off, you are _not_ a hero. No one needs _you _to save them. _Especially_ not me. Second, I am _not_ a damsel, and I am most definitely _not_ distressed. I. Don't. Need. You. So just _go_."

I knew that I was hurting him with my words. That was the point. Having to live with my mother and the things she does was enough on its own. Showing Freddie how I live and how my mother lives… It was so not what I wanted to do today, or any day.

"No."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "No?"

"No. I _refuse_ to leave."

"This is _my _house—"

"I don't care."

"I will _hurt _you, Benson."

Freddie shook his head, half cockily, half sternly. "I don't care what you do to me or how much you beat on me, Sam. You are one of my two best friends, and I _will_ not leave you in this mess by yourself."

And for once I felt how nice it was to not be alone.

And it wasn't just nice—it was damn good. I took a breath, and felt all of the muscles in my body relax. Then I felt Freddie relax.

_Bang!_

And I was tense again. I shut my eyes and wished with all of my might that this would just all go away.

_Please, _please_, go away_. I begged. I wanted to be somewhere else when I opened my eyes. I didn't know where—just somewhere better.

Then something weird happened. I suddenly felt warm and safe. It was the best I've felt in a very long time. I opened my eyes and realized why this was happening.

Freddie was hugging me. And it wasn't a wimpy hug either. It felt absolutely magnificent. So good that I closed my eyes again and laid my head on his shoulder, basking in the feeling. Freddie finally spoke again.

"Will you please come with me to Carly's?"

I could feel the vibrations from his vocal chords against my neck and it sent pleasurable shivers up and down my spine.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to just leave and never come back. But as much as I loathed my mother at the moment, she was still my mother, and I couldn't just leave her in such a state.

I opened my mouth to answer him, but before I even got a word out, we heard speaking outside of my room.

"I have the money in here, okay, no need to wave that thing at me!" my mom exclaimed desperately.

"You'd better. There won't be any more loans for you, Pam."

I pulled away from Freddie and turned around as the door to my room opened.

No. Fucking. Way. She was coming into my room to get money for her drug dealer? I knew where she was going to get it: the old coffee can sitting on the very top shelf of my book case, close to the ceiling.

The first thing I saw was my mom's face, and she looked shocked. The next thing I saw was a tall white male behind her, with a pistol in hand, dressed in dark clothes. He looked pissed off, while my mother looked scared out of her mind.

"Sam?" she nearly squeaked out.

"Mom, what are you _doing_?"

"I, uh… I mean, I needed—"

But before my mother could get her sentence out, the man behind her pushed her aside, pointing his gun at me.

"Give me the money," he growled at me. This order caused me to narrow my eyes at him and cross my arms defiantly at him.

"Why should I give you _my _money? I'm not buying any drugs."

"You're mom is, and she owes me a lot too. I am not leaving today without the dough, so either you give it to me, or I take it."

Freddie grabbed me by the bicep from behind and spoke carefully next to my ear.

"Sam, just give him what he wants."

"No."

The man waved his gun a bit before leveling it back at me as he spoke.

"I'm warning you. Give me the money, now."

Freddie tried to put his body between me and the gun, but I pushed him away, refusing to give any ground. I would not give in to this douche bag."

"That money is _mine_. So you might as well just scurry on."

"Sam," my mother warned me. But I refused to even look at her.

"Fine," the man said in an even tone. "If that's the way you want it."

The next thing I knew, there was a feral growl that came from my mother, and a gunshot, and a pain in my right thigh, and a loud thump, and Freddie screaming, "Sam!" over and over.

I cried out in pain and began clutching at my thigh as I fell to the floor in what seemed like slow motion. The world began to fade away, and the last thing I remembered focusing on as it did was the frightened face of a certain tech-dweeb. He seemed to be saying something, but I couldn't hear it.

I couldn't hear anything.

I couldn't see anything after a moment.

And soon, I couldn't feel anything.

Bliss.

* * *

><p>The first thing I became aware of was a beeping sound.<p>

It was annoying. Annoying as hell.

I growled at it and opened my eyes to figure out what was making the bothersome beeping noise. The first thing that my eyes took in was the white room. Ugh. Too bright. The next thing I realized was that I must be in a hospital room. Great. So that means the beeping was my heart monitor.

In attempting to sit up, I felt a great pain shoot through my right thigh and I just about lost my shit. I wanted to scream, but I bit my lip until it was bearable. _Well, I guess I won't be sneaking out of this hell hole any time soon, _she thought.

I'd been shot in the thigh by my mother's drug dealer.

Well, now life was just peachy.

I pressed my hands to my eyes in frustration and sighed. After a moment, I heard some rustling to my left, and less than a moment later, I felt the bed sink down next to me. My eyes snapped open, ready to kick some ass, when I saw that it was Freddie. And he looked like he just woke up too.

"Hey," he said to me with a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Like I got shot in the thigh and have been lying in a hospital bed for God knows how long."

"You know, your mom saved you."

"Saved me? She got me shot in the thigh, Fredwina."

"Well, yeah, but he was _going _to shoot you in the head," he responded in a soft whisper.

"I guess I _would_ take the shot in the thigh over the head."

I could have come up with a more morbid joke, but I figured that it wasn't appropriate at the moment.

Freddie chuckled lightly as he played with the blanket that was covering me. The smile he wore deteriorated a bit, and suddenly I was confused.

"What's with you?"

Freddie looked up at me affectionately, making the butterflies in my stomach explode and flutter to every part of my being, making me feel like I could just float away. No one had ever looked at me like _that_. So of course, my reaction was to insult him.

"What, Frednub? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Freddie licked his lips as he prepared himself to speak. It was endearing.

"I'm not sorry that we went on a date, Sam. I'm not sorry that I took you home, or followed you into your house through your window, and I'm not sorry that I've been here at the hospital for the last day and a half. I am not sorry that I may be in love with you. I am not _freaking _sorry. Not one bit."

I stared at him, trying my hardest to keep a blank look on my face, to stay cool and not seem overjoyed, but something told me that I was failing miserably.

Like the fact that his speech-giving face morphed into a handsome smile as he began to lean in to me. I was frozen. When his lips touched mine, I seemed to melt and my heart began to beat again. Funny. I hadn't noticed that it'd stopped until he finally kissed me.

Freddie stayed there for a moment before he began to pull away, but I wasn't done yet.

I reached up and grabbed the back of his head, forcing his lips back to mine. His hands shot out to either side of my body to support himself so that he wouldn't fall on top of me with the momentum of the jerking motion.

I liked it.

My fingers weaved their way through his hair (messing it up completely, I'm sure—the thought sent shivers down my spine) and he mirrored my actions on my own hair. I grinned.

And then I felt his tongue. Skimming over my bottom lip. But I didn't let him in. I made him wait. He groaned. I played with the right side of the shirt he was wearing, fingering it lightly, just ghosting over the skin. He let out another sexually frustrated noise. I laughed in the back of my throat and Freddie pulled away briefly to call me a tease. I responded by wiggling (a bit painfully because of my thigh) beneath him, lightly touching our bodies together. Another moan.

So, ha.

"Damn it, Samantha," Freddie breathed.

Normally, I hated it when people called me Samantha. This was not one of those moments.

Freddie began to resituate himself, reaching underneath him to throw the blanket off of me, and settled one of his legs between mine. I panted. I was losing the upper hand. Freddie knew it too. He looked down at me slyly, then leaned back down to my mouth. I didn't know what was coming, liked this fact, and had no plans to thwart it. Because this was just too much fun.

As Freddie softly pressed his lips to mine, to the corner of my mouth, to my nose, to my eyes, I subconsciously was aware of his leg, the one between my legs, slowly, gently rising.

I was fully aware of it when it touched my core.

Oh. Hot _damn_.

"Shit," I gasped, pulling away from his mouth suddenly. "Freddie," I whimpered. I kind of liked feeling like I was being _handled_. Like I was not the one who had the higher ground. It didn't stop me from insulting him as if I did, though.

"You little bitch," I growled before I roughly pressed my mouth to his and shoved my tongue into his mouth. He sighed blissfully into the kiss, letting more of his weight rest on me. We both forgot, in the heat of the moment, about my wounded right thigh. He reached down and grabbed my it, hooking it around his waist, causing me to hiss in pain.

Freddie's eyes widened in realization.

"Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up!" I ordered. I grinned up at him as I formulated my words. "Jeez, Benson, you're getting a little fresh with me for only having been on one date."

And then he blushed, and it was adorable. I gently pressed my lips to his once more. I liked rough, but I _especially_ liked gentle for some reason, even though it seemed like it was against my nature.

I know. Shocker.

"Sorry," he said, grinning sheepishly.

But I knew he wasn't. Not _really_.

"Freddiebear, I brought you your ointments and your big boy footsie pajamas with the grips on the bottoms of the feet and—OH, MY FRICKING GOSH! FREDWARD _BENSON_!"

Mrs. Benson had arrived.

This was too good. I looked over at the crazy red-head, then back to Freddie. She looked about ready to blow a gasket. Freddie looked exasperated.

"Mom, would you please stand out in the hall for a moment?"

"Fredward, you will not take that tone with me."

"_Mom._ I just need a moment. Then you can slather on the ointment, okay?"

She eyed the two of us for a few seconds in assessment of the situation, then sniffed huffily. "_One _minute. You have one minute to peel yourself off of _her_." Mrs. Benson then proceeded to march off into the hallway.

Freddie looked back down at me. He smiled and got up off of me, replacing the blanket where it had been previously, and leaned over me where he stood next to my bed.

"I'm not sorry, Sam," he said quietly, then kissed my forehead. I raised an eyebrow.

"You sure? I could make you sorry."

"No way. I'm definitely _not _sorry, and _no_, you wouldn't be able to make me."

"Is that a challenge?"

Freddie then proceeded to grab my face and smashed his lips to mine.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Four seconds.

Five seconds.

Six seconds.

Seven seconds.

Eight seconds.

Breathe.

Nope. That settled it.

Freddie Benson was most definitely not _freaking _sorry.


End file.
